It wasn't easy, moving.

She didn't mean moving on! No, that wasn't even a conceivable possibility.

She just meant moving, like finding the energy to get out of bed in the morning...like controlling her limbs so that she could shift from the blankets to the window seat.

It wasn't easy to learn how to move again after somebody had been carrying you.

She didn't want to at first...and then she lay immobile for so long that she didn't think she physically could.

Her baby was teaching her how.

It started off small – giving her the strength to reach for a piece of food to feed them both, sitting up in bed, letting the sunlight back into the room... step by step she was learning how to walk again.

Her baby was a mover.

Always kicking, always fighting, always letting Annie know it was there.

Annie could feel life radiating from her child, and without even realising it, that life began to seep back into the brittle, broken fragments of her soul.

Annie's baby reminded her of the days when she too had been a mover, a fighter, alive.

Everybody thought that the arena had turned Annie crazy. Truth was; that was only the final straw. The process had started a long time before.

When Annie used to think back to those days, she was overwhelmed with grief, loss, betrayal.

Now however, her baby was forcing her to remember a different side to those times, a burning from her soul that was insistent, demanding and incessantly brave.

Her baby was forcing her to remember that there had been a time before Finnick, a time when Annie could be strong on her own.

It didn't stop the pain, no, that was relentless. However, Annie was finding that the child she carried gave her a way to start working around it.

And as her baby helped her to move a step further every day, Annie had to wonder –

Who was really carrying who?


Ok, so I apologise for this atrocious chapter!
Next one will be better!
If anyone is a fan of Harry Potter, I'd love it if you'd check out my Lily&James Fic!
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